


to find a home

by tossedwaves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also the treatment of house elves in HP is awful, Because the Dursleys and Blacks, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tossedwaves/pseuds/tossedwaves
Summary: Sirius and Harry find themselves on the run together after Harry blows up Aunt Marge. It’s too bad they end up in Grimmauld Place.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98
Collections: Heart Attack Exchange 2020





	to find a home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeatheryMinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheryMinx/gifts).



Being on the run had never been on his five-year plan, but then again, blowing up his awful Aunt Marge hadn’t been either. 

Harry tried to think of a time in which he had felt like he had any control over his life. He failed. 

She had just made him so _angry._ How _dare_ she speak of his parents like that, like she knew them and had any right to judge them for anything. They had _died_ for him, while the best thing Aunt Marge had done was give him dog food and call off Ripper after he had chased Harry up a tree. Only after she had gotten her laughs in, of course. 

Harry had wanted that Hogsmeade permission slip, of course. He had begged and then bargained with Uncle Vernon—the more predictable of the two—for even the chance of him signing that slip. Maybe then Harry could have been normal for once, been able to go out with his friends without the Dursleys blocking him _yet again..._

(Now, he’d be thankful if he ever got to go back to Hogwarts at all.)

But he hadn’t been able to do it. Watching the four of them sit together, smug in their superiority while he served them food and pretended that he truly believed all the rot they were spewing—

He couldn’t do it. 

But, like always, he could never control his temper when it came to the Dursleys. It would come out sooner or later, and this time had been the worst of all, even worse than when his accidental magic had broken him out of the cupboard. Aunt Petunia had caught him in the kitchen sneaking food and had barricaded him back in the cupboard for a month. They had only let him out when the school was about to send a doctor to check on “poor Harry’s pneumonia.”

This time was the worst of all, because now, he could actually lose his place at Hogwarts. The professors had made it clear that doing magic over the holidays was forbidden, and anyone who broke the law would be expelled and their wand snapped. 

Harry had nowhere to go. The Dursleys would never let him back. 

And even if they did, the only thing Harry knew for certain was that he would not spend another five years with the Dursleys while they gloated over his expulsion. 

Harry collapsed onto his trunk and all the breath fled his lungs. He wanted to just lie there on the ground and never get up, until his body sunk into the dirt and the grass and Harry never had to think about anything ever again. 

He didn’t want to figure out how to have a future when all his plans and dreams were torn to shreds, dashed upon the rocks of reality. 

But he knew that if he did not stand up then, he never would again. And perhaps it was foolish of him, but Harry still wanted more. He didn’t want the Dursleys to win, again. He didn’t want them to have the satisfaction of knowing they had taken everything from him. 

So he caught his breath and set his feet and pushed himself up. They wouldn’t catch him defeated by them once again, one last time. Harry had gotten this far on spite and sheer nerve, and it hadn’t deserted him yet. 

He _couldn’t_ lose magic. It was the only thing he had besides Ron and Hermione. 

His breath caught. _Ron and Hermione—_

He hoped they’d be willing to write to him while he was on the run. 

Because he’d have to go on the run. He wouldn’t let the Ministry snap his wand and send him back to the Dursleys. He had his stuff with him, wand and cloak and all. He’d fly to Gringotts first, and get all the money he could. And then—well, he’d figure it out from there. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to be on the run from the law? He already had plenty of practice swiping food, after all. 

Harry knew it wouldn’t be that easy. But every thought about the future besides how he would make it to Gringotts made his breath come fast and his knees shake, so Harry avoided thinking about it. 

(He had a lot of experience not thinking about things.)

(It was what the Dursleys taught best.)

* * *

Harry went rummaging through his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak. With that over him on his Nimbus 2000, hopefully he could make it to Diagon Alley without being seen. 

When he went to reach for it underneath all his textbooks, though, he fumbled his wand and it slipped out of his fingers into the bottom of his trunk. With an oath, Harry went to reach for it, but before his hand could grab the wand, he saw a large figure out of the corner of his eye. 

His head snapped up. There was a large shape in the bushes, but the branches and the shadows obscured the figure. Harry’s search for his wand became frantic. He threw his books out of the way and he scrambled at the bottom of the trunk for the wand, but there was too much junk accumulated there. Harry was never going to throw spare rolls of parchment into his trunk _ever again._

He heard a rustling in the bushes and froze. 

But before he could do something stupid like run and leave everything he owned in the entire world right there on the kerb, the shape walked out, and Harry realized that it was just a dog. 

He didn’t entirely trust dogs after the Ripper incident, but at least this dog didn’t look about to charge him. In fact, looking at how its ribs stuck out, Harry doubted it would be able to charge at anything. The dog made a pitiful sight. 

(Just like him?)

The dog appeared to be studying him as well. Perhaps wondering if Harry was about to chase it off?

“It’s okay, boy, I won’t hurt you. It looks like neither of us have anywhere to go.”

The dog tilted its head and whuffed. It began inching forward towards Harry. 

Harry held out a hand and the dog started walking forward faster. It let out a loud whine, which startled Harry, and he drew his hand back. But the dog immediately stopped, as if sensing Harry’s fear, and huddled as if to appear smaller. It then looked at him with very large eyes, and Harry couldn’t stop from wanting to help it. At least _this_ dog didn’t think he was disgusting. He was sure Aunt Petunia wouldn’t approve of this dog either. 

He held out his hand again, and this time, the dog rubbed against it. 

“I wish I had some food for you, boy, but the Dursleys didn’t give me any before I left. And I don’t have any Muggle money to buy some for you. I need to go to Gringotts, and I don’t think you’d fit on my broom.”

The dog looked at him with strangely calculating eyes. An odd sense of foreboding washed over him. Harry swallowed.

* * *

Padfoot still didn’t quite register what was going on. One minute, he had been sitting in his cell in Azkaban, resigned to the inevitable. A few more years and he wouldn’t feel the dementors anymore.

Bellatrix’s cackle served as a great accompaniment to his own depression, and Padfoot couldn’t even work up the energy to hope for an end to the imprisonment. In the beginning, he had tried to summon happy thoughts to ward off the Dementors’ chill. He played over and over again in his mind the good times with James and later Lily and Harry. Surely they would make it right? But, no, they were dead. James would never help him again. And did Sirius even deserve the help? He had never deserved James.

Eventually the happy memories had started slipping away, leaving nothing in their place. Sirius had then settled for the memories that brought him vindictive satisfaction. If he couldn’t think of James, then he could at least think about Peter blowing himself up. It was the very least Peter deserved. 

But those hadn’t lasted much longer. All his memories kept slipping through his fingers; the harder he tried to grasp them, the faster they fled. Soon he was left with nothing but the four walls around him and the despair that sunk through to match his own.

At least his emotions were muted as a dog. And if there was a time and a place to ignore complex thoughts, Azkaban was surely it. Did it really happen, if he couldn’t remember? If no one heard a tree fall, had it even fallen at all?

Then some old fool from the Ministry had come for a tour of the deepest pits of Azkaban—Crouch hadn’t dared since his last visit—and had left his newspaper to Sirius before running away. Going by the way the man cringed away from Sirius’s grasping hand, he had enjoyed visiting the prison just as much as people enjoyed visiting the zoo. He had certainly stared at them a lot, before a deranged laugh sent him scurrying. Sirius liked to pretend that it had been Bellatrix. His life had been a lot more bearable when he could blame Bellatrix for everything. 

(Sometimes he forgot from where the screams bouncing off the walls came.)

But all thoughts of the fool in the bowler hat fled his mind once Sirius had the newspaper all to himself. Finally, some scraps of information to hold on to—

What year was it, anyway?

All the details escaped his mind in a rush at the sight of the photograph. A happy family with their children—

(James and Lily and Harry would never be happy)

in Egypt, smiling in the Valley of the Kings. But no— wait— a rat— a _rat— a RAT WITH FOUR FINGERS—_

Padfoot did not remember what happened next. Just a rush of adrenaline, the transition to dog and the emotions blurred, a splash of cold, cold water as he jumped into the North Sea. A purpose (did he remember what it felt like, having a purpose?) that drove him onwards. 

The days bled into nights, accompanied only by the pains of muscles that had long since atrophied. He made his way across the country, interrupted only by trips to scavenge food from dumpsters. He would have laid down in a ditch long ago but for the sense of purpose he had not felt in years. What were shredded, useless muscles, to Harry’s safety?

And that thread of purpose had led him here, more than half starving and mad with hunger, but the anxiety—an ever-present hum under his skin—had subsided. Here Padfoot was, and here the boy was, and well, Padfoot hadn’t felt that content in a long, long while.

Despite his worst fears, the boy was well. 

It couldn’t last, though. 

(Nothing ever lasted, not for him.) 

Harry’s words—and the boy was Harry, James’s son—penetrated through the fog on his mind. 

_Running away from family...on the run from the Ministry..._

Padfoot scooted back on his haunches and growled. Could he never escape it?

But the boy’s eyes widened and he jumped back. Of course he hadn’t been talking about Padfoot—he didn’t even know him (and that thought sent a pang through his chest). 

It was Harry, this time, on the street, dragging a trunk behind him. “It looks like neither of us have anywhere to go.” _A boy on the run..._

Padfoot could feel himself—the part of him that was tucked away—reacting. The torn, oversized clothes, the glasses held together by tape, the shaking hands...Padfoot knew they all meant something, but he could not say what. 

He practiced the skill he had learned in Azkaban, suppressed the thoughts that this boy stirred up in him. Exposed happy thoughts did not last long in Azkaban, after all. Padfoot could not afford to think any more than was necessary. All that mattered was surviving until the next day.

But he wasn’t in Azkaban. He was here on this street, with this boy, and he knew that he needed to do something. 

He just knew, somehow, that he needed to get himself and this boy to safety. 

How could he have ever planned to just check up on this boy and leave? Padfoot could not imagine what would have made him want to abandon him. Why would he want to chase a rat more than to stay with this boy and his comforting warmth? No, right now he needed to find someplace safe for both of them, away from families and the Ministry. Perhaps the boy would even have food—?

* * *

Harry wasn’t quite sure what was up with the dog. One minute it seemed friendly, then the next it was growling at him?

But the dog seemed to be settling down, and even started wagging its tail at him. Harry couldn’t imagine what could have brought the dog to Privet Drive. He looked way too shaggy and starving to belong to any of the neighbors. Perhaps one of them had thrown him out?

Harry wouldn’t put it past some of his neighbors. “It looks like we’re both on our own, boy.”

The dog whimpered in a strange parallel to his own emotions. Harry shook it off. This was no time to be sentimental. He needed to get out of here before the Ministry sent someone after him. And now that he was no longer jumping at shadows, he could finally go back to finding his wand and planning his escape. Perhaps if he belted his trunk to the broomstick?

It was a shame about the dog; he hated the thought of leaving him here in Privet Drive without even anything to eat, but he didn’t see how he could take a dog with him.

Harry pulled his wand and a belt out of his trunk. But before he could go about arranging anything on his broom, the dog ripped the wand out of his fingers. 

Harry cursed. “No! Bad dog! I need that wand—I can’t get another! That’s not a chew toy, put it down before you break it!” 

Harry should have known better than to ever trust a dog. At this rate, he wouldn’t even need the Ministry to come and snap his wand—the dog would do it for him. 

But instead of gnawing on the piece of wood like Harry had initially feared, the dog did something much worse. It transformed into a human, a tall, rail-thin man with wild hair down to his knees, prison clothes, and a manic light in his eyes. 

“Agh!” Harry sprung backwards, but tripped on his trunk. He landed flat on his back in the gutter, all the wind knocked out of him. 

The dog had turned into a human! He had seen some strange things, but this—

The man reached for him. Harry tried to scramble backwards, but it was no use. The hem of his jeans caught on the corner of his trunk, and his broom landed on his head. The man’s hand grabbed his arm with a frighteningly strong grip, and before Harry could so much as scream again, he felt as if he had been sucked into an extremely small tube. It was as if every inch of him had been compressed to the size of the head of a pin. 

Harry surfaced several extremely long seconds later, dry heaving onto a decrepit carpet with holes exposing extremely old floorboards. The landing had kicked up a cloud of dust, so when Harry tried to inhale, he only started coughing again. 

It was a long moment before Harry felt like he could breathe again. He immediately looked up to take stock of his surroundings. His broom and trunk had landed beside him, in a hall that could have come from his worst nightmares. Sneering portraits looked down at him as if he were dung under their boots, what seemed like torture instruments were sitting on shelves, and decapitated house-elf heads, contorted in agony, were mounted on the walls. 

He imagined this was what Voldemort’s lair would have looked like, back when he was hunting the Potters. Who else would live in such a place?

But worst of all was the man standing over him, pointing Harry’s own wand at his face. With a wave of the wand, ropes burst out of the ground to tie Harry’s arms and legs down. 

Harry’s blood froze in his veins. This sounded like the plot of a story Aunt Petunia would threaten him with. _Mangy dog turned into deranged wizard who kidnaps child and murders him in creepy building._

Harry would bet she’d be thrilled hearing where he was now. He imagined her face in his mind’s eye: “What else did you expect, boy? A palace? This is what magic gets you—“

He shook his head away to dispel the image. He didn’t need to be thinking about Aunt Petunia right now. The Dursleys always showed up at his worst moments.

He held himself still, but couldn’t help the questions from bursting out. “Who are you? How did you turn from a dog into a human? Do you work for Voldemort?” 

The last time he’d ended up in a creepy room that screamed Dark Magic across from a deranged-looking wizard, he’d had to fight off a basilisk. At least Ginny wasn’t dying next to him, and this wizard didn’t look like Tom Riddle. But he didn’t love his chances. He was wandless and unarmed. 

Perhaps the Ministry was looking for him? He’d take Azkaban over wherever this was. At least he didn’t think the Minister would kill him. 

But, strangely, the wizard didn’t seem to be attacking him, though he was still pointing the wand at him. Maybe he didn’t know how to use it? Though, that made no sense. Only a wizard could have done what he did. And would else have known about a place like this?

“Harry...” The man’s eyes were strangely intent. 

Harry’s eyes widened and he tried to scoot backwards, though the ropes hindered his movement. He had become accustomed to everyone knowing his name, but it still was an odd feeling. He was sure he’d never met this man before in his life.

“Don’t...don’t be afraid.” The man’s voice cracked as if it hadn’t been used in decades. “I don’t want to hurt you. I was trying to help.”

Harry let out a manic laugh. “By dragging me here and threatening me with my wand? I don’t know what your standards are for helping people, but I don’t know how this qualifies.”

The man’s lips twitched. If the man had been anyone else, Harry would have thought he almost tried to smile. But on him, it was just creepy. 

“You have your parent’s spirit. Just like James and Lily...” His voice trailed off, and he appeared to be staring into the darkest corner of the room. 

“My parents? _How_ did you know my parents?”

At that, the man’s gaze snapped back to Harry’s face. He flinched. 

“James and Lily...he doesn’t know how I know James and Lily!” The man barked out a loud laugh that went on for several uncomfortable moments. 

Harry cringed. Perhaps he didn’t want to know. 

“James was...James was the best friend I ever had. And I...I killed him. Oh Merlin, I killed them both. It’s _all my fault—_ “

Harry almost threw up. _His parents._ This man had _killed_ his _parents._ The blood pounded in his veins. He wanted to hurt the man who had done this to him, to them, who had ripped away the only family he had ever had and left him to the tender mercies of the Dursleys— 

He said he had been their _friend—_

But—what about Voldemort? Hadn’t Voldemort killed them? Who even was this man, and what was even going on here?

The man looked at him with a strange expression, and Harry realized that he must have spoken out loud. 

“You...don’t know what happened? They didn’t _tell you?_ Voldemort killed James and Lily, but the only reason he could get to them was because their friend betrayed them.”

Harry could only shake his head in horror. 

“ _He_ was their Secret-Keeper, the filthy rat. And all because I told them it was safer! I should have known! The bastard was always a slimy, scheming rat. Pathetic Pettigrew! And now they are _DEAD!”_ The man’s words grew louder and louder until they turned into a shout. 

But before Harry could say or do anything, a bloodcurdling screech began from somewhere over to his left. 

A pair of dusty velvet curtains blew open, only to expose the portrait of a terrifyingly furious old woman. She was drawn with this very house as a backdrop, in luxurious green velvet robes and a glass of red wine in her hand. She took a fortifying sip before opening her mouth to scream obscenities.

“TRAITORS. MUDBLOODS. WHO COMES HERE TO DISTURB THE NOBLE HOME OF MY ANCESTORS? WHAT SACRILEGE IS THIS? MY FILTHY, TRAITOR SON WITH SOME HALF-BREED CHILD? GET OUT OF MY HOUSE THIS INSTANT!”

Both Harry and the man froze. It looked as if someone had hit the man on the head with a two-by-four. 

This woman was the man’s mother? No wonder he was like this. 

But the man only remained frozen for so long. He strode up to the painting and gripped the frame so hard his knuckles turned white. It looked as if he would have attempted to strangle the woman if she’d been living. 

“I should have known you’d never be gone from this place. An awful painting of an awful woman to match this awful place. Why did I come back here?” He raked a hand through his hair and threw a desperate look around the room. 

When his eyes met Harry’s, he froze. It looked as if he’d even forgotten Harry was there. They both stood there frozen for several seconds while the woman—the man’s mother?—hurled obscenities, before the man remembered himself and turned back to the painting. He tugged the curtains back over the portrait, which thankfully made the woman stop. 

Harry _still_ had no clue what was going on. Who was this man, and who was Pettigrew, and what had they done to his parents?

_Why did no one ever tell him anything?_

If only someone had _told_ Harry that someone was after him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have run away— 

No, Harry would have still done it. But then he would have known not to say hello to random dogs that jumped out of the bushes! They all treated him like a child, and now look where he was!

He had no idea where he was, or who he was with. 

He _would_ get some answers before the man killed him. Perhaps he could even find a moment to escape. This floorboard had several rusty nails sticking out of it. Perhaps if he used one to loosen his ropes?

But when Harry tried to move slightly over to the nail, the man’s head turned towards him. His lips were twisted up in a snarl. Harry gulped. Perhaps that had been a mistake. 

The man must have seen something on Harry’s face, though, because he stopped snarling and almost looked as if he were trying to appear less threatening. Harry didn’t buy it. 

“I realize you definitely don’t trust me now, but you don’t know the truth. Your parents, they were hiding from Voldemort with a Fidelius Charm, which doesn’t let anyone except the Secret Keeper find the house. I was supposed to be their Secret Keeper—they asked me, and I agreed.” 

Harry felt all the blood leave his face. 

“I see how you’re looking at me, and believe me, I know I deserve it, but I wasn’t the Secret Keeper.” He let out another hysterical laugh and brushed away a tear. “I had the _brilliant_ idea of having our friend Peter Pettigrew do it. No one would guess! But—the traitor—he was already working for Voldemort! He brought him to them not even a month after we switched!

“He should have DIED, I went to kill him—I could never forget James and Lily’s faces, just lying there still, so, so still, for as long as I live.” He looked into the distance, his face paling. “I couldn’t live in a world in which he lived and they died. They had asked me to look after you, but oh, Merlin, I left you there with Hagrid, their last wishes abandoned with the dawn!” He started pacing furiously up and down the hall, head in his hands. 

Harry did not know what to think. Was the man saying what he thought he was saying?

The man spoke again. “I swore I would hunt him down and make him pay, pay for what he did. But when I tracked down his cowardly, traitorous hide, he blew himself and several Muggles up rather than face me.” He kicked a coat stand so hard it fell over. “Peter framed me for everything, and the Ministry dragged me to Azkaban without so much as a trial. 

“And I sat there for years, knowing I deserved every moment of agony and guilt. I couldn’t save James and Lily and I couldn’t care for you, and I deserved every wretched second in that place. But then—then—I saw THIS!”

He shoved a tattered, water-stained copy of The Prophet, with a picture of the Weasleys on the front, into Harry’s face. Harry blinked in confusion. 

“See—SEE the rat, on the boy’s shoulder? See how it’s missing a finger! THAT is Peter’s animagus form! He used it to hide from everyone for years, and I thought he was dead! And so I had to hunt him down for what he did to James and Lily, and to make sure he didn’t hurt you while at Hogwarts. 

“I would be hunting him down now, but—I saw you instead. I needed to make sure you were okay. But you needed help, and I remembered the promise I made your parents, only years too late.” The man took ragged gasps, as if telling the story had taken all the energy he had left, then looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I just want to help you, Harry.”

Harry just sat there for a second. How could he believe this outrageous story? It made no sense. Though...it actually _did_ made sense, in a strange sort of way. 

He never would have believed Scabbers, Ron’s rat, was actually a person, but now that he had seen this man transform from a shaggy dog into a human, he didn’t know what to think. How could Harry know what was possible, with magic? 

And he knew from last year that the Ministry wasn’t careful about who they threw in Azkaban. They hadn’t wasted any time blaming Hagrid for a crime he didn’t commit. He had just been a convenient scapegoat for Voldemort. No one had cared about the kindness he had shown to a lonely orphan.

When they finally released Hagrid, he hadn’t seemed quite the same after. And he had only been in there for several months. Harry couldn’t imagine what twelve years in Azkaban would do to someone. Who knew what it had done to the man in front of him?

_Could_ the story be true?

Harry had always wanted someone to come to take him away from the Dursleys. He used to daydream about his long-lost father showing up on the Dursleys’ doorstep and freeing him from the cupboard under the stairs. Somewhere, somehow, there was a family that wanted Harry, who wouldn’t look at him with that pinched look. One day, Harry would be enough for someone.

But it had been many years since Harry had wished for that. He knew that life didn’t grant wishes that easily. Hogwarts was present enough. And who else could say they had friends like Ron and Hermione?

But now it seemed that, after all these years, his wishes were finally being granted. This man had literally swept him away from Privet Drive to someplace else, and was offering to take him in. 

If Harry ignored the terrifying and creepy decor, the fact that he was currently tied up by ropes, and literally everything else, this was all of Harry’s dreams come true. 

He knew not to dwell on dreams, though. Harry had never had the best luck. He twitched his arms in the ropes. 

At the movement, the man startled. “Oh, sorry, Harry! I just did that because I was afraid you’d attack me and run off. I wanted to make sure you’d sit and listen to me. And this house can be pretty nasty if you ran into the wrong place; I don’t know what my dear old mum did to it in the years I was in Azkaban.” He sneered. “But I’ll release the ropes if you’ll swear you won’t run off.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t want to be tied up any longer. And if he had to make a run for it, it would be a lot easier this way. 

But the man seemed to believe him, and released the ropes without complaint. Harry had the strange feeling that the man meant every word he had said. 

“You never said who you were?” Harry asked.

The man slapped a palm to his face. “Of course, you wouldn’t remember. I knew you as a baby, Harry. I’m Sirius Black, and your parents named me your godfather.”

His... _godfather?_

Sirius must have seen the weird expression on his face, because he flinched. “I know...I know I’m not...not the best godfather you could have had. I should have done better.” His shoulders sagged. “But...if you wanted to stay with me? I can’t really offer more than this decrepit place right now, while they’re after me, but after I prove my innocence, we can get a better place.” Sirius took a deep breath. “Would you...would you like that, Harry? I understand if you’d rather not, but I reckon I’d be a bit better than the people you ran away from.” 

Harry hesitated. How could he trust this man? But...he seemed to actually want to help him. And at least if he stayed here, he wouldn’t have to go back to the Dursleys. And, well, he didn’t exactly want the Ministry to find him either. This creepy place would be better than being on the run who knows where. It’s not as if he wanted to live in caves with only his Potions textbook for company.

Harry didn’t know where he’d go otherwise. His plans after he got to Gringotts were one huge blank space. He squinted at the man—Sirius—as he ran his fingers though his mangled hair. It looked even more hopeless than Harry’s unruly curls.

At least Sirius didn’t seem opposed to him using magic?

* * *

That...could have gone better, Sirius recognized. Then again, it could have gone a lot worse. It seemed like Harry somehow believed him?

What a feeling, to think that someone would listen to him and not immediately cast blame!

Sirius had almost forgot what that was like. Not since James...

A lot of things had never happened when James was there. 

But maybe with Harry here...his life wouldn’t be such a loss?

Sirius had almost gone to curse the Dursleys, back in that cookie-cutter suburb where he had found Harry at last. He remembered hearing about Lily’s sister and husband, how they always treated her awfully. It was one of the ways the two of them had gotten close, bonding over their conflicted relationships with their siblings. Trauma and alcohol had never gone so well together. 

Lily had under no circumstances ever wanted her sister’s family to take in Harry. She had made Sirius promise under the light of the stars that he would never let it happen. 

(Another thing he failed; he had failed them so badly.)

Sirius didn’t want to imagine how the Dursleys had treated Harry. 

He hadn’t known how to process all the emotions—he still didn’t—that flooded in once he was back in the shape of a human and out from under the influence of Azkaban. He suspected he was still in shock.

Sirius still didn’t know how the emotional wave hadn’t carried him and his baggage all the way out with the tide. 

But there had been a small part in the back of his head—could this be his conscience?—that had reminded Sirius that the last time he abandoned Harry to get revenge, it had ended up horrifically for the both of them. 

Never let it be said that Sirius was dumb. He learned from his mistakes (most of the time). He didn’t want to end up in Azkaban for another 12 years. And he didn’t want to risk Harry again. He could see how well Harry’s time with the Dursleys had worked out. No, Harry was stuck with him this time.

There would be time enough to get his revenge. Sometime after he got his godson to safety and the Ministry was no longer after them both. The Dursleys would not _rest. No one_ could treat Harry like that and get away with it. But...not now. 

The same...he would have to do the same with Peter. He had Harry now. He had just wanted to check on Harry before going after the rat, but those plans had been thrown out the window once he realized Harry was on his own and in trouble. 

It constantly pained him, like a red-hot poker to the heart, to know that Pettigrew was out there, ingratiating himself within Hogwarts, with Harry’s Gryffindor year-mates. But he just had to look at Harry to quell the temptation to hunt Pettigrew down. 

Sirius had paid his dues. He wouldn’t leave Harry alone again. 

His vengeance would come, in time. He would ensure it. 

Sirius wished he could say that his decision to go to Grimmauld Place had been as well thought out. He had known he would need to find somewhere safe and good for Harry. He had been sleeping in the woods and in caves, but he couldn’t do that with Harry. Harry was a boy, not a dog, and that would only have drawn attention. Besides, Harry deserved better. 

He just wished he had a better place for Harry than Grimmauld Place.

(And a better place for him, though that mattered less. The ghosts of this place were just that.)

And, Merlin, it killed him to admit it, but there was nowhere else to go, no one else to go to. 

He trusted no one to hear him out. They had stuck him in Azkaban and Harry with the Dursleys. No one cared about them, with Voldemort out of the picture. Everyone had their own priorities. 

Lily and James had trusted Dumbledore, but they had trusted a lot of people. (And look how that had turned out for them.)

Sirius was not that trusting, had never been, even before Azkaban. He knew where trusting people got you. 

(He had trusted his parents, at one point.)

Trust got him nowhere.

Besides, Dumbledore had never liked him like he liked James and Lily. The two of them were people Dumbledore would protect—for his own ends, but also because he thought they were worthy of protection. 

Sirius did not fool himself into believing Dumbledore felt the same way about him. 

He suspected that Dumbledore had darkness in him—no one with that many secrets and lies had an unstained past—but he sure liked his uncomplicated Gryffindors. 

Sirius had seen the wary gleam in Dumbledore’s eyes while he looked at Sirius one too many times to trust that Dumbledore wanted to protect him. 

Sirius had never expected Dumbledore to get him out of Azkaban. 

(With James gone, he suspected that no one would stand up for him ever again.)

At least he had Harry, now.

* * *

“So, uh...what now?” Harry’s question spoke for the both of them. Now that they had gotten the worst conversation out of the way and Harry had decided to live with him, they needed to decide what to do next. 

They were both stuck in this hellhole for the foreseeable future, until Sirius somehow managed to prove his innocence, or they both fled the country. 

“How are we even going to get food?”

The two of them looked at the kitchen. The whole room was encased in cobwebs. Sirius didn’t want to know what creatures had gotten into his mother’s fine china. He shuddered. There was no way he was going to eat food prepared in there any time soon. 

“Who has disturbed my Mistress’s home? What would Mistress say, if she could see two vagabonds breaking into her home like this? Out, out!”

The two of them spun around to see a short figure hobbling out of a backroom. 

Sweet Merlin, was that Kreacher? Sirius had thought everyone from his old life was dead. But no, of course it was _Kreacher_ who survived. That was just his luck. 

“Is that...is that a house elf?” Harry’s knuckles were white from where he clutched the chair in front of him.

Sirius turned his head. “Yeah, didn’t you see the severed heads on the staircase? My family was awful. They thought doing that was an _honour.”_ He sneered. “There’s a reason I ran away from home.”

Harry paled. He looked over at Kreacher. “Do you know Dobby? He’s my friend.”

“Who is this boy, who talks to Kreacher as if he is good enough to disturb this place? What would Master Regulus say? Dobby is a disgraced elf. Kreacher wouldn’t talk to him now.”

Kreacher had probably been locked up in here for years—he certainly sounded like it. Sirius knew what being trapped within four walls for a long time felt like. Now Grimmauld Place was just him and Kreacher, two beings twisted into unnatural shapes by the shackles that bound them. Sirius shook his head.

He almost said something cutting, but looked at Harry’s face and decided against it. Harry was already hesitant about being around him. He didn’t want to scare him off. And it seemed like Harry really cared about Dobby. 

He sneered. “Don’t worry, Kreacher, I want to see you as little as you want to see me. Stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.”

He turned his back on the house-elf. He had had enough of ghosts. 

“What do you say we make a food run?” Sirius smirked at Harry. “I’m sure with your cloak and my dog form we can nab a few things. Preferably pre-cooked. I don’t think either of us wants to try cooking in there.”

Deep-fried potatoes with a side of cobweb was not his idea of fine dining. And he suspected that Kreacher would try to poison any meals they tried to make in the Black kitchen.

No matter. He would kill for some chips.

* * *

Harry still wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten into this situation. Sirius really was trying hard to make him comfortable. Harry hadn’t even wanted to run away _once._ He just wished Ron and Hermione were here. 

It was a bit lonely, just the two of them (and Kreacher) in the house. The two of them had to spend a lot of time cleaning, and Kreacher only interrupted occasionally. Harry never thought he would have enjoyed spring cleaning, but Sirius was always there with him, telling funny stories and showing him neat spells with the wand the two of them had to share. The Dursleys had never done that.

It was almost like having a fath—

Their food run had even been fun too. Harry had never enjoyed hunting for food so much, even though the stakes had never been higher. It was almost like when he and Ron and Hermione snuck around Hogwarts. 

Sirius had led the way as a dog, while Harry had followed behind in his father’s invisibility cloak. The dog had looked back at him for an opinion every time they passed a restaurant, but they settled on raiding a grocery store. 

Harry felt bad about stealing the food, so he left a few galleons behind after. 

The thought had crossed his mind that this would be the perfect opportunity to run away from Sirius and his house of horrors. But Sirius trusted him to not run away. And the way he looked at him, doggy face scrunched up in happiness and tongue hanging out, Harry couldn’t imagine this man ever wanting to hurt him. And he had spoken about his parents like he really cared—Sirius would have to be a really good liar to fake that much emotion. 

And Sirius actually told Harry what was going on, and treated him like his opinion really mattered. Harry couldn’t remember the last time an adult had done that, if any ever had.

And when they got back to Grimmauld Place, Sirius offered Harry the first pick of their stash, even thought it looked as if he hadn’t eaten a full meal in years. It really seemed like he cared about _Harry_ , just Harry.

Then the two of them polished off their entire heaping pile of food, in between laughs about the people they had fooled along the way. 

They had already started planning where they would go next. A park on the way home had looked like it would be fun. Maybe if they could figure out a disguise for Harry, they could play out in the open, just a boy and his dog. 

Harry didn’t even feel awkward about it. It seemed like Sirius was figuring out how to have a family, as well. They would learn together.

Harry was having a good summer.

* * *

“So, uh, Sirius, can I write to Ron and Hermione? It’s only, I’m sure they’re really worried about me. They’re used to not really hearing from me during the summers—” 

Sirius winced, so Harry cut off. He didn’t want to remind Sirius about his time at the Dursleys’. He was the only adult who actually seemed to listen to Harry, but he didn’t want to risk Sirius going after them like he’d already threatened to. He was having the best summer of his life, and Harry didn’t want to lose his godfather before he could even enjoy living with him. 

“It’s only that it’d be nice to talk to them. Last year they rescued me from the Dursleys and I don’t want them worrying about me now. I’m worried they heard about the whole accidental magic thing and me running away…”

He trusted Ron to not tell on him, but he didn’t know if anyone else in the Weasley family would open his mail. Harry couldn’t forget that he was on the run, too. If the Ministry tracked them down, they’d send Sirius back to Azkaban and snap Harry’s wand and send him back to the Dursleys before he could say “stop.” He couldn’t let that happen. 

But it seemed like Harry’s worries were for nothing. Sirius only smiled and patted his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, Harry, I know what it’s like to be cut off from friends in the summer. I wouldn’t force you to go through that. And I know you know what you can trust Ron and Hermione with. You can tell them you’re with me if it’d make them feel better, as long as you don’t tell them where we are. And even if they did know, I don’t think they could break in here.” Sirius grimaced. “My father was exceedingly paranoid and warded this place from the foundation to the roof. No one could break in here without my approval, not with the rest of the family dead.”

Harry grinned and ran up to grab his quill and some parchment. It was so nice to not have to hide his correspondence with Ron and Hermione, for once. Maybe they could even visit?

He went back to the kitchen, where Sirius was still sitting. Harry was glad. This way, Harry could ask him what was safe to tell Ron and Hermione. And if he snuck in a bit of bragging about how great his friends were, Sirius didn’t call him out on it. 

(And if Sirius sometimes looked away wistfully, Harry wasn’t going to bring it up.)

* * *

The atmosphere hung over him like a cloak of lead. He couldn’t take two steps without remembering ten memories that had taken place there, all of them bad. 

Harry’s presence made it better, but nothing could make up for his mother’s portrait hurling abuse, his father’s liquor cabinet taunting him. The rooms matched exactly his worst memories, the decrepit décor making everything ten times worse. He knew time had soured his memory, as time had soured his mother’s portrayal. It didn’t remove the scars her screams had left. 

Sirius knew that things hadn’t usually been that bad, but years later, it was hard to remember the good. He had spent too long blaming his parents. He couldn’t forgive them even if he tried.

Harry brought new life to the place, life it hadn’t had since Sirius was a little boy and still thought his parents were the best people in the world. 

How fast things changed. 

He brushed his hand along the doorplate that read _Do Not Enter without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black,_ not that anyone had ever listened. The memories flashed in front of his eyes faster than he could control, a flip-book telling the story of two boys and their tale of tragedy. Where were they now? One dead, one in prison? Had they deserved this?

Sirius remembered when the two of them had had magic lessons, back before either of them had ever boarded the train to Hogwarts. 

How Sirius had always gotten the magic on the first try, how Regulus had taken much longer. _As was fitting, for the heir and the spare._

No one had expected much of Regulus. 

When Sirius ended up in Gryffindor, he suspected that Regulus had had it the worst. 

Always resentful of Sirius’s success, but thankful to remain mostly unnoticed, Regulus had treated Sirius with a strange mix of envy and respect. Neither had wanted their parents’ attention. But Sirius had always gotten it. At some point, that had to have stung. 

It was impossible to win with Walburga and Orion Black. 

When Sirius had come back the disobedient, wayward child, baptized by the Sorting Hat into the house of disgrace, Regulus had seized his chance. If he couldn’t be their bright, shining star, he could be a steady point to steer by. 

There was no question Regulus would be in anything other than Slytherin. 

They never had paid him more attention than they did Sirius. 

Sirius wondered what those last years after he left had been like. With Sirius and Bellatrix, the original favorites, off the rails, he supposed the attention had shifted to Regulus and Narcissa. No one talked about Andromeda. He wondered what they had said about Sirius Orion Black III.

Evidently Regulus had never stopped trying to make them satisfied, the stupid idiot. The last Sirius heard of him, he had become a perfect Death Eater, dying for the cause. Sirius wished...he wished for a lot of things. 

In another world, perhaps they would have been the best of friends. Regulus, James—Sirius certainly hadn’t had much luck with brothers. 

He wondered how his mother had taken Regulus’s death. He supposed that since she couldn’t maintain her Black legacy, she tried to ensure her longevity another way. Her portrait certainly didn’t look like it could be removed from the front hall. It certainly would maintain a legacy of hatred throughout the years. 

He spun on his heel. There were no good memories here.

* * *

There were always people who you regretted being friends with in school. Remus had thought the four of them were the best of friends, friends for life. Of course, there had always been—moments—he disagreed with, the bullying of Snape just one instance in a chain of problematic actions. And, well, he couldn’t be blamed for what Sirius and James did. Remus had always figured that he was lucky to have friends at all. He definitely hadn’t expected to be so lucky, with his condition. 

But he had found Peter on the train, and the two of them had gotten along pretty well, both alone in a big, new school and feeling inadequate, for all that they were both in Gryffindor. Then James and Sirius had come along, and it had felt like he belonged, for once. If he sometimes felt uncomfortable, well, everyone had to make sacrifices for friendship. 

Then they had all graduated and had gone their separate ways. Remus suspected that if things had gone down differently, he wouldn’t still think about them so much. They had all been very different people. Only people like Remus, with an adult life even more hopeless than a childhood marked with despair, would ever look back at school with such fondness. 

(Perhaps if he had other friends now, besides the people he met temporarily. Moving from one short-term job to another wasn’t exactly conducive to making friends.)

(Remus had nothing to do but look back.)

They had all joined the Order of the Phoenix, along with Lily, but they all did different things. James and Lily had a baby and then went into hiding, Peter and Sirius had stayed involved within Britain, and Remus had been sent out to make contact with giants on the Continent. He had felt them drifting apart, had grown resigned to it. Hadn’t he always disagreed with some of the things the Marauders had done? But he had not expected that when he returned...they would all be gone. 

He had tried to move on, but well, a lot of things seemed happier in retrospect. At least he had the ever-present job search to distract him. Who had time to worry about childhood friends when you were worried about losing the roof above your head?

So when Remus’s fireplace flashed blue and revealed Dumbledore, calling him for an urgent meeting, the last thing Remus would have expected was to hear that Sirius Black had captured Harry. 

“I’m sorry...did you say... _he_...has Harry? I thought Harry had protections. How could he have reached him?”

Remus had never seen Dumbledore look so grave. 

“I am afraid that they have failed. Harry ran away from his family after performing underage magic, and it appears that Sirius has found him.”

Remus collapsed into a nearby chair, nauseated. After all these years...to lose him like that…

“There is some good news, however. Molly Weasley has informed me that her son Ron Weasley—one of Harry’s good friends—has just gotten a letter from Harry. He appears to be in good health, and even told Ron that he was with Sirius.” He twirled his beard around his fingers. 

Remus could only look at him in shock and horror. 

“But it is most likely that Sirius told Harry to tell them that, in the hopes that it would inspire us to stop hunting him down. We won’t, of course. But at least we know Harry is alive. It was written in his hand.” Dumbledore frowned.

“Now,” Dumbledore’s eyes bored into his, “I need you to let me know if there is any piece of information, no matter how small, that would help us track down Sirius.”

Remus gulped. He hadn’t wanted to share this—had known that Dumbledore would be disappointed in him—would likely never trust him again. But with Dumbledore looking at him like that, he couldn’t hold it back. 

“Well, there’s one thing...”

* * *

“Do you have any magic books here?”

Sirius’s head snapped up from where he’d been contemplating the Muggle newspaper in front of him. The world was so different, now. 

Harry shifted his weight where he stood across the room. “It’s only, if I’m not going back to Hogwarts, and the Ministry can’t find us because of the wards on this place, I’d like to, y’know, learn a bit more magic.”

Sirius blinked. He hadn’t been thinking about Harry’s magic education, but he should have. What a great godfather he was already shaping up to be. 

Sirius grimaced. “I took most of my stuff when I ran away from home at fifteen. There might be a few books from when I was younger in my or Regulus’s rooms, though. I wouldn’t trust the library to have anything useful. It’s all esoteric dark magic in there, and there’s always a risk that a book might curse your hand off.” He rubbed his arm. “I was never allowed in there, and the one time I snuck in, I regretted it.”

Harry winced. “Could...could you maybe teach me, then?”

Sirius felt a curious swooping feeling in his stomach. He had always wanted to teach Harry magic...but this wasn’t how it should be. He should have been the indulgent godfather, taking Harry for fun day trips then returning him to James and Lily. He would have taught Harry how to set the best pranks and James would have pretended to be annoyed, but he would have loved it too. 

Sirius would have done anything to die instead—he would have given his heart and his soul and his pride for even one more moment with James. But evidently they had been worth nothing, for he was still here while James was dead and buried. 

Even if James and Lily had been gone, he could have been doing this with Harry for years now. They would have been able to celebrate him getting his Hogwarts letter. They wouldn’t both be on the run from the Ministry and terrible families, holed up in this decrepit old house with nowhere else to go. Harry shouldn’t have to scrounge for textbooks to teach himself magic. A lot of things should be different. 

But what could Sirius do? He had quite literally no rights at all, no way to protect Harry.

He wanted to think that the Ministry wouldn’t snap Harry’s wand and expel him for such a minor thing as accidental magic, but his faith in the Ministry had never been particularly high, even before what had happened to him. 

Perhaps...perhaps he would have to sacrifice his pride and write a letter. 

Harry deserved better. He deserved to go back to Hogwarts, not to be trapped here with Sirius. 

Sirius would make it happen, whatever he had to do. Dumbledore didn’t care about him, but Sirius was sure he cared about Harry, if only because he was his “Chosen One.” Dumbledore always loved having people in his debt.

* * *

A few hours and a stealthy trip to an owlery later, Sirius found himself with a speedy response, written in Dumbledore’s distinctive hand. 

He checked to make sure that Harry wasn’t there before opening the letter with shaking fingers. 

_Sirius Black,_

_It was a surprise to hear from you. I hope that your letter indicates that you are willing to be reasonable._

_I assure you, that should you turn yourself in, and Harry with you, that I would ensure that Harry would not be expelled from Hogwarts. In fact, your disappearance has made it so that the Ministry is only searching for him out of worry for his wellbeing._

_If you bear any concern for Harry Potter’s future—as I assume you do, considering you have kept him alive this long and have reached out to me on his behalf—I implore you to do the right thing for Harry’s sake. He does not deserve to be on the run when he could be with his friends at Hogwarts._

_If you will not turn yourself in, you still can let Harry come to Hogwarts. I will ensure that he always has a place here. Whatever agenda you have, Harry should not be involved in it._

_If you do turn yourself in, with Harry, I will do what I can to help your circumstances. We can discuss your claims about Peter Pettigrew then._

_-Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

* * *

Sirius walked into the parlor, where Harry was sitting on the only usable chair reading one of his school textbooks. 

“I have some good news, Harry.”

Harry looked up from the book. 

“I wrote to Dumbledore. And he said that if you went to him, he’d make sure you could come back to Hogwarts. Apparently the Ministry is so worried about me killing you that they don’t even care about your accidental magic.” He smiled at Harry. “You’re free to go.”

Harry’s eyes widened, then narrowed again. “But what will happen to you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You should enjoy your time at Hogwarts without worrying about your godfather, the escaped convict.” Sirius blinked away some moisture from his eyes. The dust in this place always got to him.

Harry opened his mouth as if to protest, but Sirius waved it away. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll work to prove my innocence. Maybe by next summer I’ll be a free man and you can come and live with me then.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t want to leave you here, Sirius! What if you can’t prove your innocence on your own? What if they send me back to the Dursleys? I want to be here to help you!”

Sirius wanted to dissuade him, but Harry continued. “Could Dumbledore prove your innocence? They released Hagrid from Azkaban once we found out that it was actually Voldemort’s diary that opened the Chamber and tried to kill Ginny. What if we found Pettigrew? Or asked Dumbledore to find him?”

Sirius forced a smile. “He said he’d help, but I don’t think he cares much what happens to me. I don’t think he’d mind much if they dropped me right back in Azkaban.”

Harry set his jaw. “If he won’t help, then I won’t go back. I’ll write him right now—if he won’t promise to help you, I won’t come back!”

“Harry, it’s not worth it. Don’t jeopardize your place at Hogwarts for me.” Sirius frowned. “I’ll figure out what to do somehow.”

But he knew it was a lost cause. Harry had the same mulish face that Lily had had when her mind was set on something. No one could ever change her mind. 

“I’m writing him, and that’s final, Sirius. You’re stuck with me.”

Sirius wished he had the heart to protest further. But he had such few good things in his life. Could he be blamed for wanting Harry to stay with him?

* * *

“So. Can anyone explain what _he_ is doing here?” Black’s sneer seemed to fit the equally inhospitable decor. “I don’t remember inviting Snivellus.”

It appeared that Black was as unable to read the room as ever. The group had converged upon Grimmauld Place to determine how best they could remove Harry from Sirius Black. Dumbledore had given them moderate information, enough to prevent them all from cursing the man on sight. 

Apparently Black had captured Potter after he ran away from his relatives’ house. And _how_ that had been allowed to happen, Kingsley did not know. But instead of killing Harry, Sirius Black had concocted some story that Peter Pettigrew, a man who had died 12 years ago, had actually been the one to betray the Potters and kill all those Muggles. Harry, the fool boy, had somehow fallen for it. 

So instead of going back to Hogwarts like everyone—including the mass murderer—had told him to, Harry Potter had dug his heels in and told Dumbledore he wouldn’t come until they all came to help Sirius. 

If the boy had been anyone else, no one would have listened. But because he was Harry Potter and his kidnapping had already started an international incident, several members of the Order of the Phoenix had gathered for an emergency meeting. And now Dumbledore himself, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Molly Weasley, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had converged on the most suspect-looking house Kingsley had seen in a long while. He supposed all the rumors about the Blacks were true. His eyes caught on what looked like a chair upholstered in human flesh in the corner. He shuddered. At least Kingsley didn’t have to handle the fiasco at the Ministry; that was Moody’s job. 

But from the looks of this place, this meeting would turn out to be just as much of a shitshow. Black sat brooding in an old armchair, next to a truly horrific pile of what must have been cursed old antiques. Black, indeed. Harry was nowhere in sight. 

Kingsley did not trust the man at all. For all he knew, Harry Potter was chained up in the basement somewhere. From the looks the others were shooting Black, it didn’t appear that they trusted him any further. 

Severus Snape appeared almost incandescent in his rage. Mrs. Weasley kept sending horrified glances around the room. The place certainly warranted it, but Kingsley wished she’d get it together. The macabre decor was far from the worst thing about this whole situation. 

Pounding footsteps on the staircase and a loud screaming heralded the entrance of the boy in question. 

“Sirius! Where are you?” Harry skidded into the room. 

The boy really had the worst timing. If he had been there at the beginning, they could have just seized him and been done with this whole production. Now Black had had enough time to evaluate the situation. Kingsley sighed and resigned himself to a long debate.

* * *

Sirius could feel his blood rising like it always did before he did things he would regret. 

He tossed back another shot of whiskey. He could feel Molly Weasley’s glare from across the room, but he didn’t care. If they were going to treat him like a crazy Black, he’d show them a crazy Black. They didn’t want to see what he’d be like, trapped in this house and fighting for the right to remain free. And to stay with Harry, as James and Lily had wished. 

(As they had made him promise, if they died.)

Some things, Sirius couldn’t do sober. If he couldn’t use his dog form to mute the emotions, he’d find some other way. He knew all too well the consequences of alcohol. But he’d take what he could get. At least Harry hadn’t seen him like this before. And now, he was too caught up in everything to care. 

(That wasn’t true. Sirius cared more than he’d like to admit.)

He was just shocked they hadn’t started throwing spells the instant they had gotten into the house. Perhaps they were worried he had put some dark curse on Harry that would kill him if they attacked. Or perhaps Dumbledore had finally felt a shred of pity for the man he had abandoned to rot in hell.

Either way, Sirius would take what he could get. Maybe it was a good thing that Harry hadn’t been in the room when they all fell through the Floo. At the very least, Harry hadn’t had to witness Snivellus’s sneer as he had seen Sirius for the first time in over a decade. That was one face he hadn’t missed.

* * *

After a long and particularly grueling meeting, Sirius felt as if they had finally come to some accord. 

Harry had been invaluable. No one had wanted to help Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather. But with Harry there protesting? The boy had a good sense for when he was being led around in circles. He was as bullheaded as they came, and for some strange reason, he had decided that Sirius was worth fighting for. Sirius had no idea what he had done to deserve it. He had never deserved James—

But no, this was Harry. Sirius wouldn’t do Harry the disservice of crediting his current state of liberty to anyone else. It was Harry who had stood up for him, promising that he would never forgive anyone who sent Sirius back to jail.

Without Harry there, Sirius suspected that he would have been sent on a one-way trip back to Azkaban. 

But Harry had refused to back down, and even Dumbledore had been forced to agree. Sirius would remain free, and would stay with Harry. Anything else was unthinkable.

Snape had sneered and Molly Weasley had worried, but they could do nothing.

Sirius had had time to prepare numerous backups, and they all knew it. They were on his ground now. If they acted violently, they would gain nothing, and only lose Harry’s support.

Sirius would remain free.

* * *

“So, Harry, what do you say about renting a cottage out in the countryside?”

“What do you mean; can you even rent something since you’re on the run? I thought we’d have to wait until Dumbledore got you pardoned. What’s wrong with staying here?”

Sirius grimaced. “Well, most people aren’t that picky about who’s buying as long as they get the galleons. And the goblins don’t care if I’m an escaped criminal, as long as it’s my name on the vault. And since mummy dearest couldn’t get me off the family vault because everyone else is dead, it was just a matter of sending out a letter by owl.”

“But...is it worth the risk, Sirius? Shouldn’t we just stay here?”

Sirius winced. He knew Harry was just worried about him, but he didn’t want Harry to _have_ to feel like he needed to take care of him. He wasn’t doing great, but he was still the adult here. 

“Nah, I can’t live with my bat of a mother anymore. This place is awful. We both deserve better.”

“At least it’s not with the Dursleys,” Harry muttered.

Sirius looked at him. “No, you’ll never have to see them again. But I can’t stay here. It’s not doing me any favors. I can’t be a good godfather to you while I live here.”

Harry looked up at him. “If it means that much to you, Sirius, let’s move. I’m sure we could find a great cottage to live in.” 

Could it really be that easy, at long last? It seemed as if the sun was finally breaking free of the clouds on his mind. A peaceful cottage in the countryside, with just him and Harry? Sirius had never wanted anything more. 

Harry continued, to Sirius’s delight. “Maybe we could even play Quidditch outside, then! And Ron and Hermione could visit me there. We’re going to have the best cottage _ever.”_

And Sirius believed it.


End file.
